Mafia Lodged
by Darius Blake
Summary: Midnight City is a thriving metropolis, home to a vast multitude of characters. Most of them are completely irrelevant to the story. [STABDAD/HUMAN AU]
1. Chapter 1

Mafia Lodged.

* * *

 _Midnight City, 1945._

 _They say that the City never sleeps. Of course, what they actually mean is there is never nothing happening, they're not saying that the proverbial City is a restless animal. But there is something savage about Midnight City in the twilight hours. Its streets play host to many dark deeds. And Spades Slick sits at the center of the web. He had built this city from the ground up, the place would be a damn dust bowl if not for him. Him… and the Crew._

* * *

Jack Vantas awoke with a start, something prodding him hard in the crook of his neck. He groaned. It was going to be one of _those_ kind of days. Well fuck. He sighed and rolled over to see the freckle faced abomination that was, apparently, his own flesh and blood. He wondered idly if he had been that annoying as a kid. He doubted it.

"Whaddya want, brat?" the red eyes that bored into his own steel grey one were filled with resigned irritation.

"Well gee, dad, I guess I just want to get to school on time today. First day of High school and all that bullshit. Don't want the teachers giving me hell this soon into the fucking year." Karl snarked.

"Then walk. Ya still got both ya legs, don't ya?" He grunted dispassionately. "Why'd ya need me to drop ya off, you're 14. Ya can't expect me to hold ya goddamn hands every step."

"Dad." Karl deadpanned "You've _never_ been a hand holder. In fact, I would say it is a much more accurate description to say you are a first class, platinum coated pile of apathetic fucking garbage that only hold the titles of legal guardian and father because my dear departed mother apparently had tragically low standards. You have been a frankly deplorable guardian and, honestly, I have had more paternal care off Uncle Drake, and I'm almost certain he's a fucking sociopath."

"Then ya should see it coming, kiddo." Jack grimaced at how scathing his son had gotten of late. When did that happen? "Why can't ya get ya goddamn Uncle Drake to drop ya, if he's so fucking great?"

"Ara's ill." Karl shrugged and slumped into a sigh. "I don't even want go, not really. I… I don't want people to see. Not until they have to."

"See what?" Jack raised one eyebrow. What had gotten his son, his angsty little ball of rage and fire, so goddamn self-conscious?

"My…" Karl sighed, before whispering "My fucking hair, ok? First day of High school and I have a chance to meet people who don't know what a goddamn freak I am." Tears rolled down his pale cheeks.

Jack Vantas stared at his son's scruffy mop of snow white hair. The brat was scared. Holy Shit, that was unexpected. He sat up, "Kid, look at me. No, seriously, look at your old man a goddamn second."

Karl looked at him with his red eyes growing redder still from crying. Jack smiled sadly. "I have one eye, Karl. I have one goddamn eye, I'm missing an arm, my lungs are fucked and I have lost teeth more often than I care to count. Kids see me and they run away screaming. And the worst part is I did this shit to myself. Ya think you're a freak? What does that make me? I'll tell ya what it makes me. A monster. Ya not a freak, and if anyone says you are… tell 'em you'll set the scariest monster in Midnight City on 'em. Also, punch the bastard. That works too."

Karl was smiling weakly now, his cheeks still wet with tears but his shoulders had stopped shaking. "Thanks dad."

"Ya welcome, runt. Now, if it'll shut ya up, I could always dye that hair black for ya." Jack flashed him a grin. "Keep the eyes though, it'll scare the shit out of those little assholes."

* * *

 ** _Hey. So... I reflected on somethings and realized that, much as it read OK, the original first chapter was not leading in the direction I think this should be going. It was an OK short story, but it is far from the best I can do._**

 ** _Plus, its been something like eight months since I wrote that and I honestly can't get myself to follow the plan I layed out while suffering exam stress. Sorry if you read and enjoyed the original, but this should work better. I hope so, anyway._**


	2. Chapter 2

_Ten Years Ago._

* * *

Jack Vantas was a powerful man. No body controlled as many Casinos, Speakeasies or… Well, let's call them gentleman's clubs. And what he didn't own Legitimately, Spades Slick was collecting 'protection' payments from. There was a reason Jack Vantas was the richest man in Midnight city.

Which is why Drake Megido despaired at his old friend's stubborn refusal to move out of the cheap apartment on the shadier side of town. Derse Alley wasn't the sort of place anyone would stay longer than they had to… Anyone, apparently, apart from Jack Vantas. As ever, the room was full of cheap smoke and empty bottles, with Jack asleep on the couch. Drake sighed the kind of sigh that oozes resigned pity, turning off the television that had long since dissolved into static and white noise. "Why do you do this to yourself, Jack?" Receiving no answer but Jack's drunken snores, Drake removed his Jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began the long and arduous task of ensuring Jack's apartment was actually livable.

 _Present Day._

* * *

Kids. Drake Megido hated them, every last one. But then, Arabella Megido had never really been a kid, not like them. Sure she tracked mud (and Lord knows what else) into his carpet, she came home with her clothes in rags on multiple occasions and she once dug up half the goddamn garden looking for dinosaur bones. But she wasn't prone to the kind of bratty tantrums he saw in other kids, she was polite and respectful and she knew what was expected of her. He supposed that He could thank Damara for that. He'd have to remember next time he had time to visit.

But his leniency did not extend to Karl Vantas. Still, someone had to look after that snarky little shit when Jack was in one of his slumps. No child should have to grow up in Derse Alley. And no child deserved a father like Jack. Much as Drake cared for his old friend, Jack was a mess. He had been for a long time. So it was with a start that he saw Jack not only out of the apartment but actually walking the boy to school. The boys Snow white mop was now as black as tar, and he seemed happier than Drake had seen him in years. Maybe there was hope for Jack yet.

* * *

Later, when he went to visit Jack, the door was locked again. Sighing, Drake fished out the spare key he knew Jack kept under the mat and entered the room to see... "Jack?"

"Wha... Oh, hey Drake. Expecting someone else?" There was something absurd about seeing a former Mob boss wearing a Pink Frilly Apron.

"What are you doing, Jack?"

Jack grinned, "I'm tidying my apartment, ya moron, what does it look like?"

Drake raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. I mean why? You're up and dressed for the first time in months, perhaps even years."

"Maybe I realized just how much time I've lost... How's Arabella holding up? Karl said..."

"She's... Ok. She's been better, but she's got Calvin looking out for her. She'll be fine until I get back. Stop changing the subject."

Jack's grin faltered and he gave a nervous cough. "I, eh... I know I haven't been... the best father to Karl. And I can't change that, can I? But I can try to better in future. So I'm tryin' to save my relationship with my son before it's too late. He's 14 years old, Drake. It barely seems like yesterday the runt arrived on my doorstep. Ten goddamn years gone before I know what hit me. I'm not gonna let him reach 18 without me realizing. I owe it to his Ma anyway."

Drake thought about this for a second. Jack was a tough old bastard, but he had a heart of... not gold exactly, but some sort of passable gold substitute. It was a side of him few people saw these days. An idea coiled lazily through Drake's head. _There's another side of Jack people haven't seen recently._ It was a terrible idea, of course. Jack had sworn he was quitting the whole business when Patricia had walked out, taking the 3 month old Karl with her. Made it clear in no uncertain terms that the next person who even suggested it would be in dire need of a wooden overcoat. But... well, if Jack was truly back...

"Come with me, Jack."

"What? No Drake, I still got the Kitchen to clean... and Karl is gonna be home in a couple of hours."

Drake looked past Jack, through the open kitchen door. It was... well, It was as bad as he had expected Jack's apartment to be before getting here. "Nevermind, I'll make it quick and I'll help you when we get back."

"I dunno, Drake... I got stuff to do and..." Drake cut him off.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Jack."

* * *

"No, Drake. Ya can't be serious. I told ya to weld it shut, then forget the whole goddamn business."

Staring sadly at the familiar manhole cover that marked the Old Base. The hidden chambers of the inner circle of the infamous Midnight Crew had lain silent since Jack's departure. The Crew wasn't going to run with only three aces, so the shut up shop one by one and went to their day jobs, abandoning the base and letting their legacy fade into the smog of the restless city. The Crew had become legends of the night.

The old Jack would have found that funny.

"Listen Jack, I'm just getting one last thing out and then I'll reseal it. Then we'll head to where we were really going. I swear I wouldn't ask you to..." _But it would be damn nice if you would choose to..._

* * *

The Four Aces was the last Crew owned Speakeasy in Midnight City. It had been the first one, too. And there, at the Bar was a Harry Nitram.

"Boss?"

Jack sighed, "No, ya big lump, how many times? I ain't ya boss. Got it?"

"Yes Bo... I mean Jack. Yes Jack." Harry was struggling to keep a grin from rising to his face. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, well, ya can blame Drake for that. Asshole can't keep his nose out." Jack said with mock irritation. "So, Drake... what've ya dragged me out here for then?"

Drake said nothing, he just reached into his pocket and drew out a deck of cards.

"Little early in the day for poker, ain't it Drake." he chuckled nervously.

"Jack, this is your deck. I retrieved it from the base." He sighed pulling out a card and flipped it over. In his hand he now held a book.

"Sheet music, Drake? It's been a while. I dunno if I can still..."

"Try." Drake smiled sadly. "I'm sure it'll all come right back to you."

"Drake, c'mon. I'm a little lacking in the hands department, in case ya haven't noticed."

"Er... Boss. I figured you'd want this back at some point... so I held onto it." Jack turned to see Harry holding out something metal.

* * *

Karl Vantas came home to see two men sat drinking coffee in a living room that was far to clean to be his own. He half wondered if he had accidentally stumbled into the wrong apartment, but shook that thought out of his head.

"...Dad?"

"Oh, Hey kid. Me and ya Uncle Drake were just havin' a chat about You and Arabella." He laughed as his son's face flushed crimson. "Relax kid, I'm only messing with ya. I know ya got ya eye on that redhead dame, Whatsername."

"You mean Theresa? No. There is nothing between me and her. That is absurd and who ever came up with that is an fucking idiot."

"Oh, ok then. Guess you'll have to tell Arabella she' wrong then Drake." Jack grinned knowingly.

"I guess I will..." Drake smirked back.


	3. Chapter 3

Peregrine Leijon was nervous. This was nothing new. For a man who regularly took tea with the literal manifestation of Death itself, Perry spent a lot of time fretting over the little things. But every so often his worries would be directed toward something more troubling. This often resulted in his mind doing a Mobius double reach around to a state of ludicrous calm. It was on those occasions that Dick and Pete actually paid their friends fraught nerves any heed.

Peter Maryam was very much of the opinion that the actual threat related to Perry's fears was proportional to his nervousness. He considered how jittery Perry was getting a damn good weather vain of the threat level. The mild discomfort of losing his keys would probably result in him finding them in his pocket in less time than it took for him to voice his fear. But when Perry has entered that Zen state of absolute terror and stands to announce the world is about to end, Pete would bet his bottom dollar that the Apocalypse would be upon them within the hour.

Richard Zahhak, on the other hand, was of the opinion Perry needed another drink.

But Peregrine could sense Shadow Magic. The flare had lasted only for a split second, but its oily scent hung heavy in the air. And he only knew of four users of Shadow Magic in Midnight City

The Midnight Crew were moving again.

* * *

Arabella Megido sat up in bed. Uncle Calvin was sat reading a book. On closer inspection, he seemed to be holding it upside down. "Generally, I find books work better the other way up."

"Ah, Arabella, you're awake! How are you feeling?" Calvin put down the hefty tome, exposing the magazine he had been concealing behind it as he walked over to the bed. She gave a weak smile then winced.

"Honestly? I feel like Death warmed up, with a jackhammer headache thrown in for good measure."

"So an improvement on last time?" The short man grinned. Arabella found his persistent optimism infectious. She thanked him as he passed her a box of tissues.

"A slight improvement, yes. The cough seems to have subsided…" Her statement was punctuated by a bout of hacking. "…Mostly?" she finished weakly. She gave a piteous moan and sagged back into the cocoon of bedding. "I hate being Ill."

"Funnily enough, Mia Bella, most people aren't overly keen on the sensation either." A voice called from the doorway. She looked up, as Drake entered the room.

"Hello father. Were you needed at the shop?"

He fidgets slightly. While most of the world saw him as calm and collected, no one made him quite as uncomfortable as his beloved daughter. Perhaps it was the fact she was so much like her mother, or those little traits that showed she was too much like him. "No, I was Visiting an… Old friend. I dropped of some flowers for your mother on my way back."

"Tulips?"

"What else?" The tall man raised one eyebrow. "Anything else, Mia Bella?"

"Nothing that I can think of at the moment Father, Thank you. Why?"

"You seemed puzzled and I thought you may curious as to which friend I was visiting."

"I thought it none of my business and decided it that if you wished to tell me, you would." She had read him like a book. Atta girl. She was definitely too much like him.

"Well, you know that the best way to find out if I wish to tell you something is to ask. I was visiting your godfather."

"But… Uncle Calvin is here." The man in question waved happily from his seat in the corner.

"Not him, dear. The other one."

"Oh, how is Uncle Harry?"

"Not him either, although we did see him and he's fine. I was talking about Karl's Father."

Arabella's brow furrowed. Karl's father was named as her godfather, yes but she knew father didn't like talking about him. She was honestly under the impression that his position as godfather had been nullified years ago. "Uncle Jack? If I may be so bold, what could have prompted this?"

"It would seem your reclusive uncle has ventured out into the world once again. And for something other than Liquor and Cigarettes. I when to check my old friend was feeling quite himself. It turns out he's feeling more like himself than he has in years."

"How so?" Now Arabella was sat up with interest etched into her normally passive face.

"He was cleaning his Apartment when I got there. Organizing things. Filing things." a wistful smile was playing on Drake Megido's lips.

"That sounds nothing like Uncle Jack."

"That sounds more like Jack than anything he's been up to recently, he used to be such an organized guy. He actually started out as an accountancy clerk. He made it to Head of the firm in less than a year. Then he took up investment banking and made a killing, leaving just before the markets crashed. When he was twenty seven, he ran twenty Casinos at once. If there was ever a man who knew the value of order and tidiness, it was your uncle." Drake's smile fades. "Then his wife left him, took Karl with her and Jack just… Fell apart. Then ten years ago, his wife died and Karl ran away from the Orphanage as soon as he found out his dad's name. But today I saw him walking Karl to school and actually walking in direct sunlight, with a smile on his face. He looked a far cry from the broken man my friend had become."


	4. Chapter 4

Travis Nitram and Solomon Captor sat at the lunch table and ate in companionable silence. One week in, Arabella was still off sick and Karl was in Detention for punching a boy in the face. Something about him ' _deserving it for being such a smug little asshole'_.

Solomon watched as Travis' gaze drifted to the far side of the room.

"Forget it," Sol lisped, "That girl'th bad newth."

Travis sighed. Sol was right. Veronica Serket was the definition of Bad Girl. She was the kind of girl you couldn't touch and she knew it. More than that, she flaunted it. And damn was it hot. But she was dangerous, and he was... him.

He shook his head. Forget it.

* * *

Jack stared out across the city from the boardroom window. "It's a fine View, Drake... Why are we up here?"

"Business, Jack. The casino business."

Jack's nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed, "Drake... I told ya I ain't gonna go back to..." His gesticulation was cut short as Drake interjected.

"I'm not proposing anything criminal, Jack." He held his hands up in a defensive gesture. "But you still own a 5% stake in our old Casinos. So, despite never showing up to meetings, you technically hold a seat on the board of directors. And, as such, I felt it prudent to bring you to this meeting and inform you of our current...position."

Jack squinted his one good eye. He had taken to wearing his eye patch and prosthetic arm in public again. The metal finger that had been brandished before Drake's face was slowly being retracted. "Go on..."

"The Felt own all but three of the casinos in town. We own two. The remaining business belongs to a small independent who stubbornly refuses to sell out." Drake pointed out the window at the southern quarter of Midnight City. The Green Walls of English Manor sat heavy on the horizon. Jack blinked, the Manor seeming larger than it should. No, not the Manor. The stately home was still the same sprawling mess of jade green brickwork and Gothic architecture. What had grown was the green. The Felt's signature bottle green hue was slowly eating into his city. Drake could see Jack's blood boiling, his breathing getting shallow. "Now, the Felt have been..."

"Not the felt. Come now, Drake, surely you are not implying my Employer is connected to those thugs in some way?" Drake pivoted on one heel to come face to face with a pale face he knew only to well. Doctor Scratch smiled amicably, "I believe what you _meant_ to say was that _English Casino Incorperated_ been progressively raising their bid for the independent venue and..."

"And who the fuck let the Cueball in anyway?" Jack snarled, the vein in his temple bulging madly.

"My thoughts exactly, Jack." Drake turned back to Scratch, "Why are you here, Doctor?"

"My Employer wishes to send there regards, and ask Mr Vantas to attend Dinner with them in the gardens of English Manor, with a view to, ah... shall we say negotiate? Be there at 12 noon, tomorrow. Well, Good day." Without waiting for a response the Doctor strode out of the room, leaving a baffled Drake staring after him. He turned to see Jack taking a seat at the table without a word, all the fight seeming to have drained right out of him, as the other board members filed in.

It was going to be a long meeting.

* * *

Doctor Scratch smiled in the back seat of the limousine. "Full speed ahead, Ichabod. I have much to report to our employer."

"Yes sir, Right away." The driver ran a hand through his cropped blonde hair and straightened his green tie.

"How is Desmond, by the way?"

Ichabod swallowed nervously, "He's recovering sir. The Independent had certain... security measures. He never saw them coming."

"Ah... I see. Well, I'm sure our employer will find it in their heart to show some lenience."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

"So, Jack? What would you do? How do we stop them claiming the Independent?"

"We... Don't." He sagged visibly.

"I beg your pardon?" Drake was taken a back. "I'm sorry, I thought you just said we don't."

"Ya heard me right. We don't stop em. We let 'em take it. We let 'em take the whole southern Quarter. Hell, they can take the whole city. I just want to be with my son. I don't care about casinos and the politics of bar ownership anymore, Drake. So what _I_ would do is sell any shares we have and let 'em take what ever is left. Ya can take the fight to them if you want, but ya can leave me and my family out of it. I'm done, Drake." As Jack strode out the door, he heard one question echo across the now empty room.

"Fine... But what would Spades Slick do?"

* * *

Theresa Pyrope sat cross legged on the floor of her room. The door clicked open. "Hey Veronica."

Veronica had long since stopped questioning how her stepsister could tell who was opening the door without even facing it. Not that Faceing the door would make much of a difference to her milky white eyes.

"Hey Tessy. Miss me?"

Her mouth curled up in disgust. She detested that name and Veronica knew it. "Yeah, but cut me a bit of slack... my aim's pretty good for a blind girl."

"Ughhhhhhhh. You're still not funny." Veronica groaned.

"You sound upset about something... Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

Theresa frowned. Of course she didn't. "Well, I know what will make you feel better."

"Oh? Do tell."

"The good doctor is calling a meeting... meaning our dear parents will me occupied for the evening. A perfect opportunity to sneak out, wouldn't you agree?"


	5. Chapter 5

"What would Spades Slick do?"

"What would Spades Slick do?"

"What would Spades Slick do?"

"What would Spades Slick do?"

The question had become a rhythmic thumping in his skull. He ran his scarred fingers over the cold metal of his prosthetic. Spades Slick wouldn't back down... Would he?

"Of course he would..." Jack sighed, reached for the open bottle and stubbornly refused to look at the hat on the back of the door. "Of course. After all, he's me. He'll do what ever I do." Jack took a deep swig, satisfied he had answered the question.

So why did it still ring in his ears?

 _"What would Spades Slick do?"_

* * *

Christopher Pyrope adjusted his hat and surveyed his men.

Ichabod was struggling to sit still, Desmond looked like he was about to slip into unconsciousness, Terrance and Finnegan were late, Clyde was attempting to chat up anyone that would sit still long enough and Dylan was still fussing over that damn doll of his.

Christopher glanced pleadingly to his wife, who simple shrugged.

Simon was resting his old bones in one of the sofas, Sullivan was eating (again), Martin was trying to corral Edwin and Bartholomew, Quint was sat flipping coins and Canton... wait... where the hell was was Canton? You can't exactly miss the guy. He heard a steady rumble. Oh no... no, Canton... please no.

 _ **"OH YEAH!"**_

Christopher heaved a long suffering sigh as Terrance and Finnegan strolled through the gaping hole Canton's entrance had caused to the back wall.

 _This is what I have to work with, boss. Is it any wonder it took us this long to get where we are?_

* * *

Perry knew what he was doing was not entirely sensible. It was really quite silly, actually. While Dick was the muscle of Team Sleuth, Perry was well aware his own talents were more suited to a support role. He may have been one of the most powerful users of Light Magic of the current era, he was not prepared to go up against four shadow mages alone. Particularly if he turned out to be wrong. He doubted he was, though. He knew shadow magic when he felt it, and he knew the crew were the only four users of the Black Arts in the city. Still, best to proceed with caution.

* * *

It was Noon, and Jack was sat in the endless green on green eyeball killing mess that was the Lawn of English Manor. Would it hurt Lord (or was it Lady? he couldn't tell) English to have a little of some other colour? At least in the _Felt days_ there those dumb hats they wore... And the floor tended to end up pretty red when they where done.

Fun Time's.

Calmasis English poured two cups of tea and spoke in their strange monotone, "Well, I suppose we should talk numbers. How much are you willing to pay for that independent's little Casino?"

"Ya realize I don't run the company anymore, right? I quit 14 years ago." This drew a tinkling laugh from English. It was not tinkling like wind chimes. It was tinkling like glass shattering. It was not a pleasant sound.

"Oh, Jack. I think you still have far more influence over the company than you realize." Jack saw English reaching for their cane. He drew out the deck of cards and began to shuffle.

"Ya might want to put that stick down before someone gets hurt, English." he said, drawing a card and flipping it once in his hand to find himself holding...

"Oh, the Ace of Spades! However did you guess? That ** _WAS_** my card"

"Whuh?" Jack's jaw sagged open. That should have worked. Why didn't... And then he saw. Thin black lines tracing around him. Folloing them back to their source, Jack found himself staring into the cold, familiar eyes of Snowman, the 5th Shadow Mage.

"So you see, Mister Vantas..." Calmasis had adopted a different persona now. "In this game, I hold all the cards. And you of all people should know the House. Always. Wins."

"Ya got me, English. Ya got me good." Jack was worried. If his shadow magic was blocked, his deck was useless and the War Chest was unreachable. So, no Magic, no Gear, no Plan that didn't rely on those two things. _Think Jack, You're cornered. How do ya get outta this one?_ he thought about it _Ok, Ya have no way out. But then again, it's not Jack Vantas that English wants to make suffer. It's Slick he's after. Ya keep saying ya are Slick? Well, time to say ya prayers and put ya money where the sun don't shine... or something like that._

 _So... What would Spades Slick do?_


	6. Chapter 6

The shadows coiled ever tighter about him, crushing the air out of his lungs. He scrabbled in the darkness, looking for anything to anchor himself; A weapon... a piece of furniture... hell, even the ground he was sure had been below his feet. He found nothing. And then, when it felt like he had been starring out into the blackness for an eternity... the Abyss stared back.

* * *

Jack... No. Not Jack. Jack was the man who sat at home and drank himself into a stupor every day for fourteen years. Jack was the man unsure of himself as he struggled to rebuild his relationship with his son. Jack was the man who had turned his back on the Mob and the Black Arts. So the... thing, that uneasily rose to its feet and stared with glowing white eyes at Calmasis was most certainly not Jack Vantas. It wasn't quite Spades Slick either... It was an unholy being, born of Black Liquid Sorrow and seething rage. It Spoke, in the broodfester tongues, a sharp gurgling sentence. And the sky grew dark.

* * *

From his Hiding spot, Perry saw all this. A fifth Shadow Mage was in the city the whole time. Oh god, this was bad. He had been expecting Spades Slick, instead he got some unknown mage using her powers to unleash something from the Grimdark Pits of the Shadow Realm, possessing the nearest host. Perry couldn't see the face, but the man was probably lost under whatever was taking his body for a joy ride.

 _Ok, Perry. Think. What have you got? A key, but what good is that against Demons from beyond this world? We need to think Big..._ He pulled out a hip flask. _Let's see how big I can go._

* * *

People are not stupid, and even if they were, A black tear ripping the skies asunder is something even the most addled of morons would be hard pushed not to realize the magnitude of. Karl sighed as he sat in the detention room. So this is how the world ends? Well Shit. He'd expected that he'd go out kicking and screaming, but that all seemed rather pointless now. Arabella coughed weakly, Staring out the window as the sky turned black. Travis and Solomon gazed, aghast at the swirling Vortex of black that was descending from the crack in the heavens.

And all across the city the people heard the cry of anguish and bloodlust.

* * *

"Drake, You seeing this bud?" Harry yelled as soon as the man in question picked up the receiver.

"Of course I can see it, idiot. It's covering the entire City."

"What do we do?" The big man's voice wavered.

"I can't leave Arabella. You and Calvin will have to..."

"No. You need to be there. If the boss is in there, It has to be you that brings him down."

Drake sighed. Time was, once again, the enemy... Maybe he should call in an old favour, level the playing field a tad...

"Fine, just get over here."

It wouldn't hurt, just this once, to have Time on their Side.

* * *

People like to view time as linear. One simple line. How little they know.

Time is a fickle thing. Like Space, It is not strictly a dark Magic, nor a Light one. It has no gods to placate, no determinable effect on the soul, no allegiance to good or evil. But it'll cost you. The Felt just love to mess around with time magic like they own it, But they don't have a clue.

You want people who know time magic better than anyone? You need only speak to a Watchmaker.

* * *

By the time Drake Megido barged his door down, Dirk Strider was already shutting up shop and preparing to get out of town as fast as possible.

"Droog, listen, I don't know what you heard but I can assure you that Dave had nothing to do with..."

"I don't care. I'm here on business."

Dirk stared at him, "Droog, the world is ending... And you want to talk about money? It's been years since anyone even heard from the crew and you are here to talk about protection payments?"

"No... I need more time. I know you've been supplying the Felt. Now you can do something for me." Had Dirk been paying attention he would have seen the playing card in Drake's hand. As it was, he was rather startled when he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. "Now, Mr Strider... What is the going rate for half an hour of extra time?"

* * *

 ** _5 hours earlier_**

"Hello, Problem Sleuth and Company, What can I do you for?"

"Enough of the Innuendoes, Sleuth. It's me."

Peter Maryam's eyes narrowed. "Droog. Long time, no see. You've been awful quiet for the past few years"

"Yes, it's been a while. How's your daughter?"

"She's fine, Droog, not that you really care. What do you want."

"Forewarned is forearmed, Sleuth... Consider this a chance to be armed as all hell."

Pete raised one eyebrow. "Go on... I'm listening."

"I offer you a chance to bust the head of the Felt. Half an hour from now, at English Manor. Be there if you want to be the one to break the case of the decade."

"Why, Droog? Why would you help me?"

Drake chuckled "Contrary to popular belief, Sleuth, there is no honour among thieves. I dislike the Felt as much as you. Probably more, if I'm honest."

"Anything else?"

"Yes... when you get there, bring Scottie Dogs."

"What?"

"You know, Scottie Dogs? The little liquorice sweets? Just bring some."

The connection went dead.

* * *

Drake checked his watch. Everything was in place. Sleuth and Co were hidden just inside the gates. He was on the roof. Jack was writhing in a cocoon of crushing shadows. In five minutes, a short conversation would take place and a past version of Drake would run across town to barge down the door of the Strider and Sons Watch Shop. And all hell was going to break lose in three... two... one...

* * *

 _ **And this is where I would answer my reviews... If I had any.**_

 _ **Seriously, reviews would be great.**_


End file.
